For the Greater Good
by Zedaar
Summary: Three wizards discover that someone has been manipulating their lives, fates and families. A fifth year story with eventual H/Hr.
1. Once Upon a Time

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did I wouldn't be living next to a railway line.

A/N: This will be a story in three rotating parts (hopefully). I'll post the first three once a day, then the following chapters as I finish them.

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Once upon a time, there was a young wizard with a very promising future. He was smart, powerful, handsome and considerably charismatic. Unfortunately this young wizard also had a few tragedies in his life. His younger sister had been caught doing magic by a few Muggle boys. When she couldn't show them how the trick was done, they violently beat her, leaving her somewhat... damaged, and unable to do magic. His father, enraged by the act attacked the boys, equally violently.

When the father was later arrested for the attack, he refused to explain it, so as to prevent his damaged daughter from becoming a permanent resident of St Mungo's. As a result, he was sent to Azkaban prison, home to the dreaded Dementors. Many who went into that dread fortress never returned, others returned darker and somewhat demented by their experience. The father in this tragic tale died before completing his sentence.

The young wizard never quite got over the unfair incarceration and subsequent death of his father.

The mother of this poor family decided then to relocate her daughter and two boys from Mould-on-the-Wold to Godric's Hollow, secluding her daughter within the new home. This seclusion lead to the popular opinion that the girl was a squib and thus an embarrassment to the family. Nothing could be further from the truth. The girl was actually quite powerful, magically. Had she lived she would have been even more powerful than her brothers. However the attack had robbed her of her control. She would deny any ability with magic for days, weeks, even months on end, until her now very volatile emotional state got the better of her.

It was on one of these occasions that her mother died. The young wizard, recently graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry suddenly found himself the head of the family instead of embarking on a whirlwind tour of Europe with like-minded friends. His younger brother offered to drop out of school and look after their trouble sister full-time, but the new family head would not allow it. His education must be completed.

In truth, the young wizard held his brother lightly accountable for their mother's death, as the boy had irresponsibly not been home that day.

And so the bright, respected, ambitious and proud young wizard found his future stunted by his responsibilities. Resentment, even if it was only mild, was inevitable. But he found good fortune in a recent acquaintance, the great-nephew of a local woman. The two young wizards found in each other similarities of thought and opinion and immediately became fast friends, fascinated with the legend of the Deathly Hallows, and with Grand Plans For the Greater Good of Wizarding Society.

For there is rarely anything more important to a young wizard than his own opinions

Their ideals were simple and rather commonplace: wizards are superior. The Statute of Secrecy was in truth hampering the development of the Wizarding World and should be done away with. Why should the superior race hide from the mundane? Only in their ideas of execution did they differ. One of the young wizards believed that Muggles should take their rightful place as the servants of Wizarding World, much like the serfs under the nobles of old. The other felt this did not go far enough. As the Neanderthal had once been replaced by Homo Sapiens, so should Homo Sapiens be replaced by Magus Superior.

Two men, seeking power, divided by detail. Enemies have been made by far less than this, only a catalyst was required.

This catalyst took the form of the younger brother. Being of far more tempestuous temperament than his elder, he took great exception to the neglect of their sister, and a great argument sprang up between the three, with the sister caught between. Curses soon followed and when the smoke cleared, only the young wizard remained. His friend had fled in fear of the consequences. His brother had left cursing his name.

His sister was dead.

The young wizard was now at a very vulnerable time, a veritable crossroads of fate. It could never be determined who was ultimately responsible for the girl's death, and that weighed heavily on the young wizard's mind. A wizard with less ego might feel some measure of guilt, for neglecting his own flesh and blood, for siding with a friend over family. A wizard less proud would admit his mistakes in allowing his ambitions and fascinations to override his responsibilities and sense. But this young wizard had been too long denied his grand future, too long had he suffered under the weight of family misfortune, misfortune that could be laid at the feet of others.

There would be justice and retribution.

For some time the young wizard had sought the records of his father's trial, to clear the family's good name. But those records were sealed by law. Recently, however, with the judicious use of bribes and hints of intimidation, the young wizard had finally been able to at least gain access to list of those involved in the trial.

Had his sister never been beaten, she would never have become so damaged. For that the names of Dursley, Snape and Evans would become his puppets and tools until their inevitable destruction.

Had his father never been unjustly incarcerated, their family would have thrived. The judges, the barrister, the prosecutor, the Aurors. All would suffer until they begged for mercy, which, being merciful, he would grant.

Gaunt, Potter and Prince would be judged.

Pettigrew would have no defence.

Weasley would be persecuted.

Black would become as their name, never to see the light again.

Wizarding society must never be allowed to follow the Muggle world into decadence and decay, but must be preserved at its peak for all time.

For the Greater Good.


	2. Poisonous Clarity

Disclaimer: I own nothing here.

A/N: Welcome to the first of the 'present day' chapters. I hope you all enjoy it.

Arthur Weasley awoke one late evening in a rather peculiar state of mind. One the one hand, he was in a considerable amount of pain – having a giant snake use you as a chew-toy tended to do that to a man. On the other hand his mind was clearer than it had been in years. For a long time now he'd lived his life in somewhat of a daze, fixated on Muggle technology yet unable to make the slightest headway in understanding it. But now he could figure it out quite easily. How does an air-plane fly? The simple, yet ingenious, concept of lift, of course.

But more worryingly were his decisions over the last two and a half decades. He could remember everything he'd done with remarkable clarity, but couldn't understand for the life of him the reasons behind those decisions:

Why on earth was he working in a dead end Ministry job like the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, when he distinctly recalled wanting to pursue a Mastery in Charms after school.

Why was he living in a ramshackle four story hut when the Weasley family had lived in a sprawling underground manse for generations? It was called The Burrow for a reason after all. And why hadn't he been able to remember the home he'd grown up in for the last twenty-odd years? Not to mention the family treasure vault, buried beneath the home since the end of the last Goblin Rebellion. Weasleys had never trusted Goblins with their money.

Why did had he agreed to sire seven children? When they'd talked about it early in his Seventh year at Hogwarts, two or three had been all he and his lover had agreed on.

And finally, why by all that was holy, unholy; crawled, walked or flew; by both heaven and hell, had he married dumpy, dopey, bigoted, knutless Molly Prewett? Why had he pursued that cow when he'd already landed the most gracious and beautiful witch of her age, even if she had been his teacher?

"Ah, Mr Weasley. Welcome back to the land of the living, sir. How are you feeling?"

Arthur was startled out of his musing by a young man in Healer's robes.

That question, asked by Healers the world over, had always vaguely amused Arthur.

"Like a great ruddy big snake just chewed me up and spat me back out, Healer...?"

"I'm sorry, how remiss of me. Healer Alvarez, your attending physician. And that's a remarkably accurate assessment of how you were brought in, Mr Weasley."

"Arthur, please."

Smiling affably, yet professionally, Healer Alvarez nodded but wouldn't deign to give Arthur his own given name.

"We've cleared up the poison and prevented secondary infections, but the wounds seemed to carry a bit of dark magic in them and are resisting magic. We've even attempted Muggle stitches, but the damn things keep dissolving. I suspect that has more to do with the potions residues we've found in your bloodstream than the wound itself." The Healer gave Arthur his professional 'look' when dealing with difficult patients. "You really shouldn't self medicate you know. Long term exposure to some potions can cause additional health problems, not to mention some potions don't mix well."

Pushing his bubbling emotions aside for the moment, Arthur queried, "Perhaps you could tell me which of the potions you think are a problem, I'll be able to cut them out of my regimen."

The Healer scoffed, "Found? Merlin, man, we can't tell what potions a man is on by analysing his blood. We ran a detection charm and found multiple magical contaminants is all. Its impossible to know what they were, just that they weren't as a result of the attack. Regardless, we've got you on a Purifying Potion now, so I suggest you cease your _'Regimen'_ and see a proper Healer for whatever ails you. Your wounds are healing, somewhat slower than we'd like, but healing nonetheless. We expect to be able to release you within a few days." Alvarez then muttered, "Thankfully," under his breath, but not quiet enough.

Arthur determined the cause of the man's discomfort immediately. Merlin only knew how much he was familiar with its cause.

"I take it my wife has been making a nuisance of herself?"

Alvarez grimaced and requested, "If you would do us the _kindness_, Mr Weasley, and inform your wife that such behaviour is less than tolerable? The entire nursing staff would be much appreciative."

After thinking about it for a moment, Arthur said, "I'll do you one better. Keep yourself and other staff away while she's here and I'll not only reduce the frequency and severity of her visits, but I'll inform her of my progress myself, keeping as many names out of it as I can."

The look of relief on the Healer's face was unmistakable.

"Thank you, sir. We all honestly have no idea how you put up with such behaviour. You must have the patience of a saint."

Now that he had the man's gratitude, Arthur thought he could trust him enough to make an observation.

"Or perhaps it was those potions. Thank goodness for your treatment, hmm?"

Now Alvarez showed some professional concern.

"Indeed," he said frowning. "Perhaps it should become an official treatment?"

So there was some discretion among the St Mungo's Healers after all. Good.

"I hardly think that necessary. Just a Family Matter, after all. I would, however, hate to relapse. Perhaps some sort of preventative treatment would be valuable?"

Healer Alvarez studied his patient for a moment, evaluating the risks and benefits, both to his patient and himself. Eventually he agreed.

"I'm sure it will."

The two wizards shook hands and parted company, one to his rounds, and the other to his own thoughts. Arthur had a lot of careful planning to do. Now that his questions about his life had been partially answered by the Healer, it would take a great deal of skill to hide that revelation from his wife until he was prepared to deal with the situation.


	3. Amends Amended

Disclaimer: I own nothing here.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/fav'd/followed so far. I have another three chapters written in the same order after this, and will hopefully have more done soon. Enjoy!

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Weeks after the attack on Arthur Weasley, Harry Potter's life was flashing painfully before his eyes. He'd come to realise that much of it was unpleasant, both his life and the reason he was reliving it all.

He was flying on a Hippogryff.

He was watching an axe fall in the pumpkin patch.

He was on a broom being chased by a dragon.

He was being chased by Dudley and his mates.

He was releasing a python and capturing Dudley.

He was dying from a Basilisk bite.

He was surrounded by dementors.

He was surrounded by fog.

Harry frowned in confusion. That wasn't a memory.

"Foolish boy!" Professor Snape sneered, "This is the height of arrogance and stupidity, even for you. Did you really think you could hide something from me with a memory charm? I suppose you had one of your equally foolish friends cast the charm, you're lucky they didn't wipe your mind from existence."

Harry was panting, confusion and anger compounding the exhaustion brought on by hours of painful leglimency.

"What are you talking about? I've never been Memory Charmed!"

"Listen closely, Potter, and you may actually learn something tonight. That fog you saw is the evidence that a Memory Charm has been used. As thick and as broad as it was, it was quite substantial and it's obvious that whoever did it didn't even bother to place a false memory. You had Granger do it I suppose? If Weasley had done it, you'd be a drooling vegetable by now." Snape smirked at that.

Harry was trying not to shout, he'd finally learned that his temper only made things worse in the Potions Master's presence, but his anger at this new example of the Potter luck was growing by the minute.

"I'm telling you, I've never asked anyone to do that. If someone has taken my memory it was without my consent.

Now Snape had some concerns of his own. If they boy was telling the truth, then whatever memory lay hidden in his mind could be either interesting or dangerous. Or both. Both his masters would want to know who'd been messing about in Potter's head, and both would be equally angry if they discovered he'd meddled with their own efforts.

Snape's thoughts were interrupted by the boy asking, "Can it be undone? Can a Memory Charm be broken? I want whatever got taken from me back."

"There is a way," Snape told him cautiously. "But there is a risk, however slight, and it is painful."

"Compared to the last few hours, what's a little pain?" Harry snarked. Then he took off his glasses and sighed, rubbing eyes with his left hand, the light glinting off the scarred words. He looked up at his Potions Professor and asked simply, "Please."

_'Damn those eyes!'_ Snape thought, his emotions warring against each other.

"Very well," he ground out, "prepare yourself!"

Snape cast the spell and watched as only a leglimens could as the memory unfolded.

_Eleven year old Harry Potter, fresh from the Hospital Wing, timidly knocked at a heavy wooden door in the dungeons of Hogwarts, a single folded photograph gently held in his hand. A loud voice called "Enter!"_

_Little Harry was very nervous. He'd had a lot of trouble with this teacher this year and was now about to ask for a very big favour. But he had a plan, so hopefully everything should be all right._

_Harry entered to find Hogwarts' Potions Master seated at a wide heavy desk facing the door. The desk was scattered with papers and parchment, many of them liberally defaced with red ink. _

_Harry approached the desk and said "Excuse me, Professor Snape. I'd like to talk to you about something, please."_

"_You're done for the year, Mr Potter," came the scathing reply, "I really don't want to put up with any more of your foolishness this year."_

_Harry nodded, ashamed. _

"_Yes, sir. That's part of what I'd like to talk to you about." He swallowed nervously and continued, "I'd like to apologise for my attitude toward you this year. I suspected you of working for Voldemo..."_

"_**Don't**__say the name!" Snape thundered._

"_Uh, yes sir. You Know Who, then. But I was wrong, you were helping to stop him. You even tried to help me that day with the broom. Hermione was right. You are my Professor, and I should treat you with more respect and trust. I'm sorry."_

_With an eyebrow raised, the Professor put up his quill and sneered, "A Potter apology, this is a day of wonders. I suppose you'd like me to accept your paltry apology and let you go on your merry way?"_

_Downcast, little Harry replied, "Only if you think I deserve it, sir. I have behaved very poorly to you this year."_

"_I will consider accepting your apology, Mr Potter, if your behaviour improves next year, and if you give your summer potions homework due diligence. Anything less than Exceeds Expectations from you and I will forget this conversation ever took place, am I understood?"_

_Little Harry Potter looked up at his Professor, pleased as punch that his plan was working, even if it did mean working harder on his summer essays. _

"_Yes, sir!" _

_He hesitated, for a moment unsure of how to ask his favour without causing offense._

"_Is that all Potter?" Snape drawled._

"_Um, yesterday Hagrid gave me a photo album with pictures of my parents in it. I found this one in it, folded up," Harry put the photo on the desk, unfolded, "and I was wondering; could you tell me something about my mum? Anything at all is fine."_

_Snape picked up the photo and looked at it closely. On one side was a tall tree shading over a broad lawn of grass, the Black Lake in the distance. Below the tree, bag by her side and a book in her lap, sat teenage Lily Evans. Every so often she would look up and smile. On the other side of the fold a dour young man with black hair and a substantial nose watched her, his face expressionless until she smiled at him. Then he smiled back. On the back of the photo was written in a feminine hand: Lily and Severus, March, 1974._

_As Snape looked at the photo, Harry wasn't sure, but it seemed like the Professor's face softened slightly or something, like he wasn't as angry as he usually was. _

"_What do you know about your mother, Potter?" Snape asked quietly._

"_Not much. Just what Hagrid told me when he brought me my letter. I don't believe anything my Aunt Petunia ever told me, she only ever told me lies."_

"_Like what?"_

"_They died in drunken car crash. Dad was an alcoholic, unemployed. Mum the same. And I should count myself lucky to live in their house."_

"_Petunia always was jealous of your mother. She could never get over the fact that Lily was a witch, and she was just a Muggle. She even sent letters to the Headmaster, begging to be admitted."_

_Snape took a deep breath and raised his wand. With a wave he copied the photo and handed the original back to Harry. _

"_Your mother was a talented witch, brilliant with potions, but even better with charms. Professor Flitwick was one of her favourite people. She was also a wonderful woman and the best friend I ever had. Now, go. Get out of here, I've got papers to grade."_

_Young Harry Potter had tears in his eyes as he accepted the photo back and the even more precious gift he'd received with it. "Thank you, sir! I won't let either of you down, you or my mum."_

_As Harry opened the door, the Professor called out, "Potter, should you happen to write to an old friend of your mother's, it may just be that he'll write back."_

_Harry smiled broadly and said, "I will, sir!"_

_As Harry walked happily back down the corridor, he heard someone say behind him, "Well, now. That just won't do at all."_

Both Snape and Harry reeled from that memory, Harry in tears from the pain and grief; a precious memory and a chance to know his parents better stolen from him. Snape, on the other hand, was simply livid.

"I have no memory of that conversation."


	4. Interlude I

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own this.

A/N: This one's a little shorter than usual, but hopefully worth it. 3 more chapters are completed and waiting for posts. Keep those reviews coming.

Once upon a time, there was a wizard who sought to blame others for the misfortune that befell his family. Unlike his father, who in his haste had been caught, this wizard bided his time, instead focusing on proving the potential seen in his youth. He travelled extensively, learning all he could of matters both arcane and mundane. He hobnobbed with the powerful, the learned and the wealthy, gaining their insights, influence and admiration. Like the subtle serpent, he slipped among them all, waiting for the opportune moment.

This is not to say he was idle in his life's work. Not in the least. As he moved about the upper echelons of magical society, he observed his enemies, seeking their weaknesses, observing their strengths. As a wizard of great power, the length of his life was projected to be long; giving him ample time to bring his enemies low while elevating his own star.

Nor did he neglect his enemies among the Muggles. As they had initiated the tragedy that tore his family apart, they would suffer the greatest and longest. Mild curses were gently placed upon those bloodlines that would last generations. The Dursley males would have difficulty containing their rage and bigotry. The Snape finances would always remain on the verge of ruin. Accidents would strike every Evans male before the birth of their first grandchild.

All three bloodlines would fail to produce children after the first male born.

It was years before the wizard was able to land his first blow against his magical enemies. In the meantime, the wizard was patient; slowly building his reputation as both a great scholar and a wizard of power. In time his efforts bore fruit and the wise and powerful began to seek out his counsel as his name became known among the societal elite.

The Gaunts were a family of modest means but long and noble heritage. Descended from both the Peverell and Slytherin bloodlines, they took great pride in their pureblood heritage. It was that pride that would be their downfall.

Judge Corvinus Gaunt, named for one of his 18th century ancestors, had fallen ill with a relatively mild wizarding disease, but a tainted potion had resulted in his untimely death. He was survived by two children, Marvolo – 19, and Pleione – 15. Centuries of close breeding to keep the line pure had left these two with unstable personalities at best. These instabilities were easily influenced by the wizard who was able to catch them alone at a vulnerable moment during the wake that followed the funeral. The wizard returned to Godric's Hollow that afternoon with a sense of great satisfaction and a Gringott's key weighing down his pocket.

Only the very best would now be good enough for the heirs to Slytherin. Marvolo Gaunt had become convinced that the only suitable way to keep they Slytherin bloodline pure was for his sister to bear his heirs. Pleione Gaunt largely ignored her brother's efforts, having little care for the act one way or another. She had long admired the finer things in life and now chose to spend their non-existent fortune among the pricier boutiques of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.

Within three years, the Gaunt family home had been reclaimed for the payment of debts and Pleione had born her brother's son. They relocated to a tiny shack near Little Hangleton, taking with them only a few valued heirlooms and a great distrust of other wizards. Marvolo blamed his sister's wastrel ways for their problems, feeding his rage and hatred which he passed on to his son. Pleione cared little for the boy, but spent what few years she survived her daughter's birth filling the girl's head with tales of her future: that one day she would be a princess, carried away from that awful life by a Lord on a noble steed.


	5. Home, True Home

Disclaimer: Rowling owns all this, I just have a few strange ideas...

A/N: Wow, For what I considered one of the weakest chapters in this tale, you guys sure responded well. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/fav'd/followed, especially those who gave such good advice. I hope you all enjoy this one.

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With the Burrow, or at least the shack that was currently known as such, now re-warded for the times, Arthur was finally able to enact the next part of his investigation. In the weeks following his awakening in the hospital he'd quietly examined his life. For the most part it was the disappointment he'd expected – his job, his 'wife', his house. Only five bright points prevented him from completely leaving that life behind and washing his hands of the whole deal – most of his children.

In truth, seven children claimed the Weasley name. The problem was that having been lied to and manipulated for the last twenty six years, Arthur couldn't tell for certain which, if any, were actually his. It could be all or none or any number in between.

Arthur's thought centred on each of his children as he sneaked about the ramshackle building, collecting what he needed. Bill was the eldest, and in all honesty the son he was most proud of. Highly successful at Hogwarts as both Prefect, then Head Boy, he'd gone on to be an equally successful Curse-Breaker for Gringott's. While the Weasley family traditionally had issues with the Goblins, they'd always recognised their skill at both Warding and Curse-Breaking.

Arthur was almost as proud of Charlie who had also become a Prefect while at Hogwarts, as well as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. He'd then broken completely from his mother's expectations and left the country to study his own passion – dragons. At the time Arthur had been proud and quietly amused at the boy's desire to pursue his own life – a Weasley tradition.

Even more amusing were Fred and George. Pranksters from birth – with Fred peeing on the midwife – the twins had constantly made their home a refuge for chaos and hilarity, usually over their mother's shrill objections. And like Bill and Charlie, Arthur knew they were just biding their time before striking out on their own.

Girls were highly unusual in the Weasley Line. There hadn't been a Weasley daughter in six generations. As such, Ginny was an uncertainty. While she'd always been Daddy's Little Girl when she'd been younger, she'd also believed every word and whisper from her mother about the boy-who-lived, who would one day sweep her off her feet. Arthur found himself quietly concerned that if Molly's plan fell through, young Harry would find himself being dosed as Arthur had. Her only saving grace was her childhood revenges upon her pranking brothers with nicked wands and the recent streak of independence she'd shown, all very much Weasley traits.

The other two claiming his lineage were highly suspect to Arthur Weasley. Percy, while certainly intelligent, shown by his own Prefect and Head-Boy badges while in school; had also very much lived up, or perhaps down, to every name his brothers had called him – prissy, poncy, 'perfect'. And since he'd joined the Ministry he'd added one more epithet to his name – toady. No true Weasley, successful, mediocre or failure, had ever been a follower.

As Arthur left the house and quickly crossed the yard to his shed, he thought briefly on the final member of his 'family': Ron. Ron was his greatest disappointment. Lazy, thoughtless, frequently lacking in both courtesy and intelligence he was highly prone to succumbing to his insecurities and jealousy. And his table manners were atrocious.

Truthfully both Percy and Ron reminded Arthur greatly of his late brothers-in-law – Gideon and Fabian.

Arthur locked the shed and opened the hidden and warded hatch within, revealing the stairs that had been locked for nearly thirty years, both to the outside world and his mind. It was a precaution that had been enchanted into every Weasley family member since the last Goblin Rebellion – any outside influence present in the mind and all knowledge of the true Weasley Burrow would be locked away until the influence was removed.

He entered his ancestral home and was relieved to find it well kept. With a pop and a gasp Arthur was greeted by its caretaker.

"Master Arthur! Master Arthur has finally come home!"

Arthur smiled sadly at his childhood friend, "Yes, Rigby, I'm home."

The house-elf had large tears in his eyes as he tried to hold himself back as a good house-elf should. But with a kind nod from his master he launched himself at Arthur's leg and hugged it tightly. A moment later there was another weight on Arthur's other leg as Rigby's elf-wife joined her husband in welcoming their master home.

"Good to see you too, Libby."

The elves recovered themselves and Arthur was soon sequestered in what had once been his father's study, now his. He looked about the room that he hadn't entered since before his father's death, surrounded by physical reminders and trappings of not only his sire, but all the Weasleys who'd come before him. The broad desk he was seated at, for example, had been crafted out of timber from the first tree felled on these lands after they had been granted them by the Muggle King over 700 years ago.

Libby was brave enough to ask the question that both elves were wanting to know: "Is Master Arthur back for good now?"

"Not quite," Arthur told them regretfully, "I must first make sure that our family is secure and safe. We must determine who is truly a member of our family, and who isn't. Then I can do what must be done. Only then can we be whole again. First I need to update the Ancestral Scroll."

Arthur approached the west wall of the study, upon which hung a scroll, showing an unbroken line of Weasleys covering 600 years. At the top of the scroll was Arthur's own name, the sole surviving member of Septimus' Weasley's family. Arthur touched his father's name.

"Hello Father. I'm sorry it took me so long, but I'm home now."

Steeling his nerve, Arthur raised his first piece of evidence to the tapestry – Bill Weasley's first tooth. He watched apprehensively as the tooth stuck to the cloth, then was dropped into his hand as the name William Arthur was added to the line. Molly's name was also added to the scroll as Arthur's legitimate wife. Charlie's sample – a snip from an old bloodied quidditch uniform – was also accepted and his name added.

Percy's was not. Instead, a piece of parchment fell from the scroll's casing, inked words evident upon it as it landed on the floor. Arthur stared it in anger and disgust. _Percival Ignatius. Molly Weasley/Gideon Prewett._

In a way, it made a twisted kind of sense. Gideon Prewett, the elder of Molly's two younger brothers had been just as prissy and stuck up as Percy had proved himself to be. He'd toadied along behind the stronger members of the original Order of the Phoenix, eventually finding himself in the same social exile as the Order's other less than useful members – his brother Fabian and Peter Pettigrew.

Arthur swallowed his bile and moved on. He was able to watch with pride as the names Fred and George were stitched into the fabric, although he had to laugh when the names briefly became Gred and Forge. Pranking was indeed a essential part of them. Or perhaps they'd lived for so long in each other's heads, swapping lives so often, that they themselves were no longer certain who was who.

Ron's sample – a hair from his pillow – was not accepted. Once again Arthur felt ill as he read the names magically written on the parchment at his feet. _Ronald Billius. Molly Weasley/Fabian Prewett._ Once more it seemed that nature was winning over nurture. Or perhaps not, considering that Ron was also very much his mother's son. Fabian Prewett had never amounted to anything. Barely passing his OWLS, he'd scraped a living as a bouncer at the Hog's Head, only joining the Order at his brother's insistence.

Arthur took a calming breath. The Prewett brothers had died while their sister was pregnant with Ron, so it was impossible that his youngest had been born to that incestuous union. Ginny's baby tooth was pressed to the tapestry and he sighed with relief as Ginevra Molly was added to the Weasley Family Tree. He brushed his fingers against the names of his children, proud of them all, then sneered with disdain as he picked up the evidence of his wife's infidelity.

Stepping into the hall, Arthur took a long look at his true home. His old bedroom. The Master Bedroom, where Cedrella (Black) and Septimus Weasley had once slept. The additional bedrooms, parlours and cosy living room. The immaculate but once busy kitchen. And beneath the main areas of the house, even better hidden and warded, the Weasley Family Vault.

For centuries, no Weasley had banked at Gringott's, which was why Arthur had never entered the place. The tiny vault his 'wife' collected his earnings from was the remains of the Prewett vault. That family had never been prosperous.

Arthur addressed his loyal elves, "It will take some small time, but I promise I'll return. There are a few things I have to do first, but our family will be whole again." The two bowed in acknowledgement as he left them, but when he reached the stairs leading outside, Arthur paused, "Oh, and call off the gnomes will you? Let's give them a rest before we cast that woman out of our House for good, shall we?"


	6. Unfogging the Past

Disclaimer: I'm making no money off any of this, it all belongs to Rowling.

A/N: Here is the most requested scene - Snape's reaction to the stolen memory. I hope I got it right and you all enjoy it. More importantly, as I recently read in one of Robst's (one of my favourite fanfic authors) notes - I hope it inspires you all to write yourselves. I have a dozen ideas I'm thinking of making into challenges for you all. Lastly, I'm kinda torn on how hard I should go on Ron when it comes to it, let me know what you think.

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"I have no memory of that conversation."

"Good," Harry replied without thinking.

Snape turned his fury on to the teen, "I beg your pardon."

Harry winced and clenched a fist, as if to strike his own forehead with it. "Sorry. So not what I meant to say. Not good that you don't remember, just... for a moment there I thought maybe you did remember and thus hadn't said anything cause I didn't get to do my homework that summer or... I was just relieved that I wasn't the only one is all. Kinda... misery loves company, you know?"

Unclenching his fist, Harry began rubbing at his temples. Undoing the memory charm had been just as painful as Snape had said.

"Apology accepted, Mr Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said with honest gratitude for a change. Then he became alarmed at something that just occurred to him. "Sir, I have to wonder... just how many times has this happened? Whoever that was, it wasn't a chance encounter. They were waiting for me. They knew what we spoke about."

Snape agreed with him. But Snape being Snape, despite the revelations of the last ½ hour, couldn't say so nicely, "Indeed. It seems you can think for yourself after all, I was beginning to think that your brain had taken up residence in Miss Granger's skull. Luckily there is a way to find out. While a skilled leglimencer is required to search a person's mind for a specific active or secure memory, even an amateur can cast the spell required to find Obliviated memories and remove the Charm. Observe."

Harry found his mind under assault yet again as Snape entered his conciousness, only this time instead of random flashbacks he heard the words _Caligo Manifestus! _Like before, Harry could see fog inside his mind. Only this time he could see thirty seven distinct patches of it, some infinitesimal, others considerably large. Most were pure fog, although some more resembled really really bad TV reception – the general idea could be seen, but no detail could be made out through the snow.

_Acclaro!_ Suddenly one of those fog banks was ripped asunder and Harry's brain once more felt like it was being ripped apart as the memory revealed itself.

_Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Potter - a word, if you please." _

_Having been caught out sword-fighting against Ron with trick wands, Harry assumed this had something to do with his headless rubber haddock and proceeded gloomily to the teacher's desk. Professor McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, "Potter, the champions and their partners -" _

"_What partners?" said Harry. _

_Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him, as though she thought he was trying to be funny. _

"_Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly. "Your dance partners." _

_Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel. _

"_Dance partners?" He felt himself going red. "I don't dance," he said quickly. _

"_Oh yes, you do," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball." _

_Harry had a sudden mental image of himself in a top hat and tails, accompanied by a girl in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties. _

"_I'm not dancing," he said. _

"_It is traditional," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter." _

_Harry went to protest but suddenly the image of the girl in the frilly dress sharpened and he smiled at the realisation, "I know just the girl."_

_McGonagall gave him a small smile of her own and nodded toward the young lady waiting outside the classroom, "Best get about it, Potter, off with you then."_

_Harry dashed off, grabbing his bag and walked off to their next class with his best friend Hermione Granger. As they walked she asked him what their Transfiguration Mistress had wanted with him. He explained his new duty as a Tri-wizard Champion and his now pressing need for a partner. Hermione was quiet, seemingly wanting to say something but unable to do so._

_When they reached an empty corridor, Harry stopped and took Hermione's hand in his. Biting his lip and smiling shyly he asked, "Hermione... Dance with me?"_

_Her broad grin said it all, but she hugged him fiercely and whispered, "Yes!" anyway._

_Hand-in-hand the new happy couple continued on to their next class, interrupted only by the voice behind them, "Oh, I don't think so!"_

"Son of a bitch!" Harry roared, his head pounding as both the memory and the feelings associated with it returned to him. The happiest event of his life and someone had stolen it from him. "That bastard! I want to know who this prick is! And when I find him I'm gonna rip his..." Harry was interrupted before he could detail exactly what part of his attacker's anatomy he was going to destroy.

"Calm yourself, Potter," Snape sneered at him. "Losing one date is hardly the end of the world."

In his rage, Harry didn't think, he just reacted vengefully, not even taking the time to count or choose.

"Leglimens! Caligo Manifestus! Acclaro!"

_Severus Snape entered the small churchyard in Godric's Hollow. On the steps of the church itself stood a young woman in a modestly pretty sundress. She had dull brown hair framing a long face, a face that was becoming twisted in anger. _

"_What the hell do you think you're doing here?" demanded Petunia Dursley._

_Severus fought to keep the sneer from forming and was mostly successful. He'd never liked Petunia Evans and had never let an opportunity slip by to remind her of that fact. But today he had something far more important on his mind. "I've come to speak to her. I wish to make amends. I will not make a scene, nor interrupt her day. But I would very much like to speak with her."_

"_Please."_

_Petunia glared at him for what seemed like forever before giving him an answer, "Wait here. I'll see if she's willing to speak with you. But I swear, if you say one thing to upset her, muggle or not I will end you!"_

_With a final glare, she stormed into the church leaving Severus to wait nervously on the steps. _

_He did not have to wait long before the other Evans sister emerged and crossly asked, "Well?"_

_Severus did not immediately have an answer for her. Lily Evans, soon to be Lily Potter, was a vision of loveliness in her white wedding dress. Severus was no judge of dresses, weddings or anything of the sort, he just knew one thing._

_She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen._

"_I... I want to say I'm sorry... for screwing everything up. For screwing us up."_

"_You tried that before, remember? What makes you thing the response is going to be any different now than it was then?"_

_Severus' legs tightened together a little and he swallowed nervously._

"_I've also come to say I wish you well. It's taken me a long time, but I can see that... that you really love him. I... Be happy, Lily. That's all I want."_

_Refusing to let tears be shown, Severus turned to leave, trying to imprint that last vision of beauty and what might have been in his mind before... what would come later. A small hand landed on his shoulder._

"_Sev. Thank you."_

_Severus nodded, unable to say more._

"_Won't... you won't come in, will you?"_

_Slowly shaking his head, Severus replied, "I can't. I can accept what's going to happen, but don't make me watch."_

"_I understand. I hope to see you again, Sev. Although with the war, I hope it's not over crossed wands."_

"_Highly unlikely. I've decided not to take Lucius up on his offer. I plan to leave the country once I have my Mastery." Severus smirked bitterly and whispered, "If I live that long."_

_He would never know if she heard him or not, as he left without looking back._

_Around the corner, at the gate to the small cemetery, Severus stopped and sighed, "I know you're there, you know."_

_James Potter pulled off his invisibility cloak and stepped through the gate, looking as only James Potter could in his wedding day best._

"_I will never figure out how you do that."_

"_You breathe too loud."_

"_Heh, I'll have to work on that."_

_Severus was getting irritated. _

"_What do you want, Potter?"_

_James looked slightly shamed as he glanced away from his long-time rival._

"_I heard what you said. I'd like to offer a clean slate. She's never said it, but Lils misses you. You've got an open invitation to come around and visit. I'll even try to behave myself."_

_Severus looked at the suddenly outstretched hand in front of him. A lifetime of regret was behind him, but perhaps... Severus Snape shook the hand of James Potter._

"_I'll always be the better wizard, Snape," James smirked, "but I think today you were the better man. See you around."_

_Severus watched him strut back to the church and his bride and growled, "Smarmy git."_

"_Well, that just won't do at all," a voice said from behind him. _

_Severus saw something purple before all went black._

Grief and rage tore through the Potions Master's office as a Potter and a Snape once again shook hands. An agreement was made, an alliance formed.

"We find this bastard, no matter who he is..."

"And we rip his heart out!"


	7. Interlude II

Disclaimer: Not making any profit from this, just a few laughs.

* * *

The war that had dominated both Muggle and Magical Europe for the last 6 years had proven very advantageous for the wizard. Massive casualties across the board had decimated his enemies, both foreign and domestic. The Potters, Princes and Weasleys had all been reduced to a single descendant of those that had wronged his family. The Pettigrews had always been limited in both power and numbers. Only the Blacks had come out of the war positively, having disdained anything to do with the war.

On the foreign front the wizard had finally been able to corner his long-time rival and one-time 'friend', Gellert Grindelwald. The wizard had established himself as a force for the 'light' during the summer of '44. While the Muggles landed at Normandy he'd sought out and defeated each of Grindelwald's lieutenants, proving his worth to the leaders of Wizarding Britain.

To the public he was a hero, having staged a series of daring raids deep into enemy territory. Having taught many of them in his role as Transfiguration Professor over the last twelve years he was quickly becoming a legend among his peers. His star was rising more swiftly than it ever had and there was even talk of him one day leading their great nation.

In truth the 'daring raids' had been nothing more than ambushes, aided by superior numbers, fire-power and the judicious application of potions and poisons to weaken his foes. It was at this time that the wizard discovered yet another gift – a great affinity for Memory Charms. After all, he couldn't let the Wizarding World discover that he hadn't done all these marvellous things.

Finally, after nearly a year of enjoying his fame, the wizard relented to public pressure and used the spring break to hunt down his old friend. As Berlin was being invaded by the Russians, Gellert Grindelwald was ambushed inside his own fortress at Nurmengard. Once again the wizard used his trademark strategy to weaken his foe, but this time he would need to win the duel publicly.

"I am undefeatable!" Gellert told his old friend. "Do you know what I hold in my hand? It is the answer to power itself! I found it ten years ago and have been victorious ever since!"

The wizard beheld the wand being held in his enemy's hand and felt a great rage rush through him. How dare this upstart, this murderer, take what was rightfully his? The fight that followed could not be rightfully be called a duel. There was no sense of rules, or an order to things. The two men fought viciously, neither caring for the damage being wrought to their surroundings or their companions.

But at the end of the day the wizard stood victorious over his enemy, the Elder Wand in his hand, thrumming with power. With a flick of his new wand Grindelwald was bound in both body and mind, never again able to speak on his relationship with the wizard who defeated him, nor the wand he had lost. Grindelwald would be forever locked away in his own fortress, a testament against those who would oppose the 'light', his own creed etched above his cell: _For the Greater Good._ In continental Europe, that phrase was never again used in polite society.

Once he returned to Britain, accolades rained down on the wizard. Fame, fortune, partners and power; it was all his for the taking. The Hogwarts Board of Governors immediately offered him the position of Deputy Headmaster, with a promise to succeed Armando Dippet when he retired.

The wizard had long been the Head of Gryffindor, which he found amusing. Once, early in his career as a teacher, a promising student had asked him after an altercation what house he thought was superior. The wizard had simply smiled and replied, "No one house is superior to any other. Bravery can be found in all of them." After that his origins as a Lion were well known, and by the start of the war he was the head of that house.

A snake's greatest trick is to be thought not a snake.

There were rumours, after the war, that the wizard would be sought to fill the position of Minister for Magic, but the wizard did not like this idea at all. It was far too high a profile for his plans. Instead he deferred and deterred any such notion, seeking instead to make the best use of his chair in the Wizengamot that his Order of Merlin afforded him. In time, he would rise to the position of Chief Warlock, and it was from this lofty perch that he would enact his plans to purify Wizarding Society to its highest form. Slowly, of course, ever so slowly, and with no sign that the tightening noose was being held by one of highest regard.

Only two things troubled the wizard during this time of triumph. One was a former student, a muggle-born orphan who, despite his heritage, had been sorted into Slytherin which was unheard of. This hinted at a forgotten heritage. The boy had been angry and bitter at first, but had soon grown into a charismatic and powerful young man. The wizard had at first thought to take the boy under his wing, but soon found that his hatred for muggles was absolute, far too reminiscent of his old friend and rival.

The other problem troubling the wizard was the heir to the Weasley name. Like all the other wizard's enemies, magical and mundane alike, the Weasley ranks had been drastically thinned by the war until only Septimus survived. But like his forefathers, Septimus was well guarded against outside interference. Firmly among the 'light' he had no vices to speak of and his wealth was locked away from the greedy goblins of Gringott's.

The only mark against him was his marriage to a Black, a family who's reputation was ever darkening thanks in part to the wizard's manipulations. But even that was countered by her stance against her family which had seen her disowned. But in 1961 Arthur Weasley came to Hogwarts and was finally in a position to be influenced by the wizard. But he was far too independent.

Finally opportunity struck. Close to the end of the boy's seventh year, his father succumbed to a secret illness, following his wife (who'd died the year before) to the grave. In the same week the wizard discovered one of his sixth year students messing about brewing a love potion. Like many witches before her, she'd become obsessed with a particular man and would possess him come hell or high water.

But rather than detain and punish the girl, the wizard made use of this rare opportunity and aided her under threat of blackmail. Before long her sought after paramour was hers in truth and Arthur Weasley wed Molly Prewett immediately after he finished school. The wizard was ecstatic with this turn of events – given the girl's predilection for her own brothers it was unlikely that any fruit of her loins would be Arthur's.

The wizard did, however, make a note to never again threaten a Prewett woman, especially one who was intimately knowledgeable of illicit potions. Easing himself out of the bed of a blonde squib who's face he did not care to look at he wondered, _'What kind of name is Lockhart anyway?"_


End file.
